CHAPTER THREE - LUNGBARROW
The Doctor trod carefully across the blood red carpet which covered the hall floor and climbed it's way up the main staircase. He didn't want to be discovered too soon, but in it's timbers, the house knew he was there.
Old silver candleabras adorned the wood-panelled walls, and little mountains of tallow had formed on the carpet beneath them. The Doctor bent to study one of the little white mounds and a dark shadow fell over him. He looked over his shoulder at the imense form of a Drudge, one of the house's wooden, robotic servitors.
The Drudge rumbled at him menacingly and pointed at a door, which moments ago had not existed. The Doctor rapped his knuckles against the Drudge's hard, wooden exterior. The creature simply picked him up by the scruff of his neck in one huge hand, opened the door with the other, and threw him into the room beyond.
The Doctor landed like a sack of potatoes on a mouldy old grey carpet. A cloud of white dust floated in the air about him. Indignant, the Doctor turned to chastise the Drudge, but the soulless servant slammed the door shut in his face, causing an explosion of dust to once again billow around him.
Coughing and spluttering, the Doctor stepped back and took in his surroundings. He was in a long, wood-panelled corridoor. Suddenly, each panel swung itself back to front to reveal a mirror. The Doctor found himself in a long, seemingly endless hall of mirrors. Cautiously, he approached one and looked at his reflected image.
His reflection suddenly lunged towards him and grabbed him by the throat. The Doctor felt the fingers of his mirror image bite into the flesh of his neck. It was much stronger than he was and he felt himself being pulled inexorably towards the mirror. The glass rippled like liquid quicksilver, and the pressure around the Doctor's throat tightened.
Something was happening to his mirror image, it began to liquify, like the glass had done, and before his eyes it took on the appearance of someone else. The Doctor stared into the hate-filled eyes of his cousin, Glospin. He ceased struggling and was pulled into the mirror, the glass surface rippling with his passage, and then it returned to solidity. All the mirrored panels turned back to show their wooden sides, and the corridoor remained silent and undisturbed.
The Doctor found himself tied hand and foot to an old wooden chair. He was alone in a dark room, except for Glospin, who paced the floor in agitation.
"Hello, cousin!" the Doctor began.
Glospin rounded on the Doctor in fury and gave him a viscious backhanded slap across the face.
"Why couldn't you have just stayed away?" he screamed in fury. "Why did you have to come back after all this time?"
The Doctor frowned. "I did come back, not long ago, in fact!"
Glospin spat into a corner of the room. "To Gallifrey perhaps, but not to Lungbarrow!"
The Doctor regarded him quietly. "Glospin, I did return to this very house!"
"You lie, wormhole!"
The Doctor winced at hearing his old nik-name again. "Someone is interfering with your perception, cousin!"
Glospin seemed to be holding council with himself. "He's ruined everything!"
The Doctor strained to hear. "Ruined what, Glospin?"
"Shut up, wormhole!"
"You don't change do you?"
"I'm warning you!"
"Always plotting!"
Glospin stamped his foot in anger. "Why couldn't you just stay away?" he fumed.
The Doctor pondered the question for a long time, but gave no answer. This put Glospin in an even fouler mood.
"Did I really do so much to make you hate me so, cousin?" the Doctor ventured at last.
Glospin laughed, dryly. "Our great father, Quences, nears the end of his final regeneration. When he is gone, Lungbarrow will require a new Patriach"
"A position you wish to fill!" the Doctor stated.
"Exactly, cousin!" Glospin explained. "But your arrival has no doubt been reported to the head of the household already!"
"I don't want the job!" the Doctor said flatly.
Glospin laughed at the statement. "You won't have any choice in the matter, wormhole! You were always the favourite fruit of the loom!"
"It doesn't matter Glospin, I shall refuse father, if he offers!"
"Father won't accept me, he says that I will bring dishonour and shame to the great house of Lungbarrow!"
"And will you?" the Doctor asked.
"I have ideas, wormhole!" Glospin expounded. "Plans, dreams and visions for the future of Lungbarrow!"
The Doctor listened to his ambitious cousin.
"You want to make Lungbarrow great again, is that it?"
"Lungbarrow deserves it!"
"I see!"
"Our family deserves it!"
A look of utmost severity appeared on the Doctor's face.
"Our family deserves nothing! We are greedy and selfish and arrogant and this whole rotten house deserves to be buried! Even the High Council recognised the stench of it!"
Glospin made to butt in, but one look from the Doctor silenced him.
"Lungbarrow is a cancer, and that is why it should remain buried and forgotten!"
Glospin couldn't believe his ears. "How could you turn your back on your own family for so long?"
"I'm claustrophobic!"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"I became fed up with the same old ceremonies, the same old faces, and the same old opinions. I wanted to explore the world outside these walls, can't you understand that?"
Glospin was silent.
"I possessed the capacity of wonder, Glospin, and so one day, I simply walked out the front door!"
Glospin laughed, cruelly. "The house won't let you casually stroll out the front door this time, wormhole!"
A door opened and a small female entered the room. She gasped when she saw the Doctor.
"The rumor was true!" she exclaimed.
The Doctor's face lit up.
"Cousin Innocet!" he smiled.
Innocet looked uncertainly back at her long-lost cousin and then adressed Glospin. "Satthralope will see him now!"
The Doctor had reservations about seeing his mother, the Matriach of Lungbarrow, after such a long absense. Glospin reluctantly freed the Doctor from his bonds, who doffed an imaginary hat at him.
"Thank you, cousin!"
Glospin glared at him and stormed out of the room.
Innocet led the Doctor through a confusing series of corridoors, cloisters and hallways. The Doctor had the sensation that they were heading downwards, deep into the core of the old house. Innocet suddenly came to a dead stop. The hall in front of them was completely flooded, but a small coracle had been tethered to the handle of a half submerged door.
"This is as far as I am allowed to go, cousin, you must travel the rest of the way on your own!"
The Doctor nodded, straigtened his tie and cast a glance at Innocet.
"Better look my best for mother!"
Innocet smiled and reached out to touch his hand, but she suddenly drew back as though burned. The Doctor pulled her to him and gave her a warm embrace.
"I've missed you too!" he said quietly.
Innocet stared into his eyes. "Is it better outside these walls?"
The Doctor smiled at her. "Sugar and spice, I suppose!"
Innocet nodded. "You were brave to leave this place, the family wasn't very happy with you!"
The Doctor changed the subject. "Do you still play hopscotch on the flagstone lawn?"
Innocet grinned.
The Doctor rummaged in his waistcoat pocket and handed her a piece of white chalk. "Play!" he stated.
Innocet hugged him again and bounded away, back the way they had come. The Doctor watched her go, and he suddenly felt very sad and alone. With a big sigh, he climbed into the coracle. Laying on it's small wooden deck was a punt. The Doctor untethered the coracle, swung the punt into the water and pushed off. Each stroke of the punt propelled the little coracle along a dank and mouldy hallway. Family portaraits adorned the walls on both sides, and the Doctor could feel their eyes burning into him as he passed them by. They did not approve.
The flooded hallway finally came to an end, and the Doctor climbed out of the coracle and made sure that it was securely tied to the base of a candleabra. Directly in front of him was an ornate door, with the crest of house Lungbarrow embazoned upon it. The Doctor took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into his mother's room.
Satthralope's room was as dark and depressing as the rest of Lungbarrow. A couple of candles guttered on the mantlepiece over an old marble fireplace. A large owl sat perched on top of a cobweb covered hat-stand. It silently regarded the Doctor, who in turn contemplated the elderly matriach who reclined in an old chair, busying herself with her knitting.
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Hello, mother!" Satthralope continued with her knitting. "You seem rather pre-occupied mother, shall I come back later?" No reply was forthcoming. "What are you knitting?"
Satthralope finally looked up from her knitting.
"Would you like to see?" she croaked.
Before the Doctor could answer, she stopped knitting and held up her handiwork for him to see. It was a vivid question mark emblazoned pullover, exactly like the one he had once worn in the early days of his current regeneration.
"Do you remember this, son?" she asked acidly. "You wore it when you wiped out the Seven Planets system!" The Doctor trembled. "There was nothing I could of done to prevent that cataclysm. It was already written in history!"
"Did you even bother to try?"
"No, I...."
"My son, a cold, heartless killer of worlds!"
"Stop this, please!"
"Do you still hear the screams every night when you close your eyes, of all those thousands upon thousands of people that you murdered?"
A tightness gripped the Doctor's chest, and he fell to his knees, doubled over with the guilt that had just flooded back, a painful reminder of the darkest point in his life.
Satthralope got up from her chair, her spine cracking as she straightened her old back, and threw the pullover across the room. Swift as a passing thought, the owl swooped down and tore it to pieces in it's sharp claws.
The matriach of Lungbarrow stood over the Doctor, who knealt with his head in his hands.
"Time's Champion, indeed!" she cackled, and in a quick movement she tore her own face off.
The Master discarded the last of his disguise and looked at the Doctor contemptuously. "You no longer amuse me, Doctor!"
The Doctor raised his head, in dis-belief. The Master produced a palm-sized cube, each face of which had a small circular window set into it and pointed it at the Doctor.
At that moment, unseen by the Master, a semi-transparent, amorphous blob floated silently by and disappeared. For some unknown reason, the apparition filled the Doctor with hope.
The Master laughed, heartily. "I desire entertainment elsewhere, Doctor, but you will be held until I deem your existance over!"
A blinding rush of conical light surrounded the Doctor, and pulled him into the Master's cube. Each window now displayed the agonised face of the Doctor, encapsulated within.
"You look a little stressed, Doctor!" the Master sneered. "Take some time out!"
The cube vanished from his palm. With a single thought, the Master dissolved his Lungbarrow projection and returned to the nucleus of Siralos. "Siralos, my slave, you have pleased me thus far, but I thirst for more entertainment!"
The Master closed his eyes and chanelled the planet's power once more. Another incarnation of the Doctor would have to face the perils inherent within the Determinant.
The Doctor trod carefully across the blood red carpet which covered the hall floor and climbed it's way up the main staircase. He didn't want to be discovered too soon, but in it's timbers, the house knew he was there.
Old silver candleabras adorned the wood-panelled walls, and little mountains of tallow had formed on the carpet beneath them. The Doctor bent to study one of the little white mounds and a dark shadow fell over him. He looked over his shoulder at the imense form of a Drudge, one of the house's wooden, robotic servitors.
The Drudge rumbled at him menacingly and pointed at a door, which moments ago had not existed. The Doctor rapped his knuckles against the Drudge's hard, wooden exterior. The creature simply picked him up by the scruff of his neck in one huge hand, opened the door with the other, and threw him into the room beyond.
The Doctor landed like a sack of potatoes on a mouldy old grey carpet. A cloud of white dust floated in the air about him. Indignant, the Doctor turned to chastise the Drudge, but the soulless servant slammed the door shut in his face, causing an explosion of dust to once again billow around him.
Coughing and spluttering, the Doctor stepped back and took in his surroundings. He was in a long, wood-panelled corridoor. Suddenly, each panel swung itself back to front to reveal a mirror. The Doctor found himself in a long, seemingly endless hall of mirrors. Cautiously, he approached one and looked at his reflected image.
His reflection suddenly lunged towards him and grabbed him by the throat. The Doctor felt the fingers of his mirror image bite into the flesh of his neck. It was much stronger than he was and he felt himself being pulled inexorably towards the mirror. The glass rippled like liquid quicksilver, and the pressure around the Doctor's throat tightened.
Something was happening to his mirror image, it began to liquify, like the glass had done, and before his eyes it took on the appearance of someone else. The Doctor stared into the hate-filled eyes of his cousin, Glospin. He ceased struggling and was pulled into the mirror, the glass surface rippling with his passage, and then it returned to solidity. All the mirrored panels turned back to show their wooden sides, and the corridoor remained silent and undisturbed.
The Doctor found himself tied hand and foot to an old wooden chair. He was alone in a dark room, except for Glospin, who paced the floor in agitation.
"Hello, cousin!" the Doctor began.
Glospin rounded on the Doctor in fury and gave him a viscious backhanded slap across the face.
"Why couldn't you have just stayed away?" he screamed in fury. "Why did you have to come back after all this time?"
The Doctor frowned. "I did come back, not long ago, in fact!"
Glospin spat into a corner of the room. "To Gallifrey perhaps, but not to Lungbarrow!"
The Doctor regarded him quietly. "Glospin, I did return to this very house!"
"You lie, wormhole!"
The Doctor winced at hearing his old nik-name again. "Someone is interfering with your perception, cousin!"
Glospin seemed to be holding council with himself. "He's ruined everything!"
The Doctor strained to hear. "Ruined what, Glospin?"
"Shut up, wormhole!"
"You don't change do you?"
"I'm warning you!"
"Always plotting!"
Glospin stamped his foot in anger. "Why couldn't you just stay away?" he fumed.
The Doctor pondered the question for a long time, but gave no answer. This put Glospin in an even fouler mood.
"Did I really do so much to make you hate me so, cousin?" the Doctor ventured at last.
Glospin laughed, dryly. "Our great father, Quences, nears the end of his final regeneration. When he is gone, Lungbarrow will require a new Patriach"
"A position you wish to fill!" the Doctor stated.
"Exactly, cousin!" Glospin explained. "But your arrival has no doubt been reported to the head of the household already!"
"I don't want the job!" the Doctor said flatly.
Glospin laughed at the statement. "You won't have any choice in the matter, wormhole! You were always the favourite fruit of the loom!"
"It doesn't matter Glospin, I shall refuse father, if he offers!"
"Father won't accept me, he says that I will bring dishonour and shame to the great house of Lungbarrow!"
"And will you?" the Doctor asked.
"I have ideas, wormhole!" Glospin expounded. "Plans, dreams and visions for the future of Lungbarrow!"
The Doctor listened to his ambitious cousin.
"You want to make Lungbarrow great again, is that it?"
"Lungbarrow deserves it!"
"I see!"
"Our family deserves it!"
A look of utmost severity appeared on the Doctor's face.
"Our family deserves nothing! We are greedy and selfish and arrogant and this whole rotten house deserves to be buried! Even the High Council recognised the stench of it!"
Glospin made to butt in, but one look from the Doctor silenced him.
"Lungbarrow is a cancer, and that is why it should remain buried and forgotten!"
Glospin couldn't believe his ears. "How could you turn your back on your own family for so long?"
"I'm claustrophobic!"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"I became fed up with the same old ceremonies, the same old faces, and the same old opinions. I wanted to explore the world outside these walls, can't you understand that?"
Glospin was silent.
"I possessed the capacity of wonder, Glospin, and so one day, I simply walked out the front door!"
Glospin laughed, cruelly. "The house won't let you casually stroll out the front door this time, wormhole!"
A door opened and a small female entered the room. She gasped when she saw the Doctor.
"The rumor was true!" she exclaimed.
The Doctor's face lit up.
"Cousin Innocet!" he smiled.
Innocet looked uncertainly back at her long-lost cousin and then adressed Glospin. "Satthralope will see him now!"
The Doctor had reservations about seeing his mother, the Matriach of Lungbarrow, after such a long absense. Glospin reluctantly freed the Doctor from his bonds, who doffed an imaginary hat at him.
"Thank you, cousin!"
Glospin glared at him and stormed out of the room.
Innocet led the Doctor through a confusing series of corridoors, cloisters and hallways. The Doctor had the sensation that they were heading downwards, deep into the core of the old house. Innocet suddenly came to a dead stop. The hall in front of them was completely flooded, but a small coracle had been tethered to the handle of a half submerged door.
"This is as far as I am allowed to go, cousin, you must travel the rest of the way on your own!"
The Doctor nodded, straigtened his tie and cast a glance at Innocet.
"Better look my best for mother!"
Innocet smiled and reached out to touch his hand, but she suddenly drew back as though burned. The Doctor pulled her to him and gave her a warm embrace.
"I've missed you too!" he said quietly.
Innocet stared into his eyes. "Is it better outside these walls?"
The Doctor smiled at her. "Sugar and spice, I suppose!"
Innocet nodded. "You were brave to leave this place, the family wasn't very happy with you!"
The Doctor changed the subject. "Do you still play hopscotch on the flagstone lawn?"
Innocet grinned.
The Doctor rummaged in his waistcoat pocket and handed her a piece of white chalk. "Play!" he stated.
Innocet hugged him again and bounded away, back the way they had come. The Doctor watched her go, and he suddenly felt very sad and alone. With a big sigh, he climbed into the coracle. Laying on it's small wooden deck was a punt. The Doctor untethered the coracle, swung the punt into the water and pushed off. Each stroke of the punt propelled the little coracle along a dank and mouldy hallway. Family portaraits adorned the walls on both sides, and the Doctor could feel their eyes burning into him as he passed them by. They did not approve.
The flooded hallway finally came to an end, and the Doctor climbed out of the coracle and made sure that it was securely tied to the base of a candleabra. Directly in front of him was an ornate door, with the crest of house Lungbarrow embazoned upon it. The Doctor took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked into his mother's room.
Satthralope's room was as dark and depressing as the rest of Lungbarrow. A couple of candles guttered on the mantlepiece over an old marble fireplace. A large owl sat perched on top of a cobweb covered hat-stand. It silently regarded the Doctor, who in turn contemplated the elderly matriach who reclined in an old chair, busying herself with her knitting.
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Hello, mother!" Satthralope continued with her knitting. "You seem rather pre-occupied mother, shall I come back later?" No reply was forthcoming. "What are you knitting?"
Satthralope finally looked up from her knitting.
"Would you like to see?" she croaked.
Before the Doctor could answer, she stopped knitting and held up her handiwork for him to see. It was a vivid question mark emblazoned pullover, exactly like the one he had once worn in the early days of his current regeneration.
"Do you remember this, son?" she asked acidly. "You wore it when you wiped out the Seven Planets system!" The Doctor trembled. "There was nothing I could of done to prevent that cataclysm. It was already written in history!"
"Did you even bother to try?"
"No, I...."
"My son, a cold, heartless killer of worlds!"
"Stop this, please!"
"Do you still hear the screams every night when you close your eyes, of all those thousands upon thousands of people that you murdered?"
A tightness gripped the Doctor's chest, and he fell to his knees, doubled over with the guilt that had just flooded back, a painful reminder of the darkest point in his life.
Satthralope got up from her chair, her spine cracking as she straightened her old back, and threw the pullover across the room. Swift as a passing thought, the owl swooped down and tore it to pieces in it's sharp claws.
The matriach of Lungbarrow stood over the Doctor, who knealt with his head in his hands.
"Time's Champion, indeed!" she cackled, and in a quick movement she tore her own face off.
The Master discarded the last of his disguise and looked at the Doctor contemptuously. "You no longer amuse me, Doctor!"
The Doctor raised his head, in dis-belief. The Master produced a palm-sized cube, each face of which had a small circular window set into it and pointed it at the Doctor.
At that moment, unseen by the Master, a semi-transparent, amorphous blob floated silently by and disappeared. For some unknown reason, the apparition filled the Doctor with hope.
The Master laughed, heartily. "I desire entertainment elsewhere, Doctor, but you will be held until I deem your existance over!"
A blinding rush of conical light surrounded the Doctor, and pulled him into the Master's cube. Each window now displayed the agonised face of the Doctor, encapsulated within.
"You look a little stressed, Doctor!" the Master sneered. "Take some time out!"
The cube vanished from his palm. With a single thought, the Master dissolved his Lungbarrow projection and returned to the nucleus of Siralos. "Siralos, my slave, you have pleased me thus far, but I thirst for more entertainment!"
The Master closed his eyes and chanelled the planet's power once more. Another incarnation of the Doctor would have to face the perils inherent within the Determinant.
